Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “You’re fortunate I did not geld you, you arse!”

  “Wha—” He coughed, sputtering to draw in air through his mouth.

  Shielding his male parts from her wrath, he gaped at the spitting mad woman in his bed, while his sleep-clouded mind struggled to make sense of her presence. For more than a year, he’d conjured images of Mairi in his head, envisioning her shining, raven locks draped over his pillow. But his dreams damned sure had never ended in this manner.

  Wincing from the pain, he managed to sit upright, careful to keep his cods out of her reach. For several moments, he merely stared at her, confounded she was truly there within his grasp. A range of emotions flitted through his scrambling mind, spanning a wide range from joy to shame, accompanied by a shocking burst of irrational anger.

  Frustrated in more ways than one, he shouted, “Why the devil are you here? And in my bed, no less?”

  Mairi’s head jerked as if he’d delivered a sound slap to her cheek. In the next instant, she surged to her knees and planted her fists on the swell of her shapely hips. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

  “Mayhap, you should ask your brother,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “I can assure you, I damned well did not count on you mauling me.”

  “Maul you?” ’Twas not as if that was his intention in the slightest. “When a willing woman slinks into my bed, what the hell else do you expect to happen?”

  As soon as the words left his accursed lips, Aaron could’ve kicked himself in the bollocks once again. This time, on her behalf. A flash of pain flickered across her comely features. Her arms fell limp at her sides while her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  He opened his mouth to say something—anything—that might soothe the upset his careless words inflicted, but the chamber door flung open. The force sent the sturdy planks of wood crashing into the stone wall. Startled, he whipped his head toward the entrance.

  Connor, along with Lachlan and Alain, piled through the doorway only to stumble to a halt. Their gawking, incredulous features reminded Aaron he sat atop his bed, as bare as a newborn babe while clutching his male parts, with Mairi in close proximity.

  Alarmed, he scrambled to snatch a fur to cover himself, but the soft pelts would not budge. Exerting his strength, he yanked with a forceful tug. The coverlet sprang free the same moment Mairi squealed and flailed her arms wildly through the air.

  ’Twas only then he realized her knees pinned the blanket to the bed. His arm shot out to catch her, but to no avail. She tumbled backward over the edge of the bed before he could grab ahold of her. A loud smack, followed by a low moan, resounded through the stunned silence in the chamber. From the other men’s cringes, Aaron surmised her head must’ve banged against the hard, stone floor. The fur forgotten, he clambered over the bed to kneel beside her.

  Sprawled on her back with her eyes screwed shut, Mairi held a hand to her head, while a pained expression wrinkled her flushed features.

  Connor took a hesitant step forward. “Aaron, I do not think—”

  “Not now.” He threw a harsh glare at his brother. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  Connor lifted a hand. “Wait—”

  “Silence, damn it!” Disregarding his brother altogether, he carefully gripped Mairi’s cheeks between his palms. “Are you all right? Say something, Mairi.”

  Her beautiful, pale blue eyes cracked open, then almost popped from their sockets. Screeching and covering her face, she rolled onto her side away from him. “Sweet Mother, get that thing away from me!”

  Surprised by her outburst, Aaron glanced down at himself, comprehending her source of dismay at once. He muttered a string of curses and yanked a fur from the bed, wrapping the coverlet around his nude waist. Against his better judgement, he reached for her, his fingertips barely grazing her shoulder, but she wrenched away from him.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  Connor muttered, “If you had simply listened to me.”

  At the end of his tether with the entire disconcerting affair, Aaron exploded. “For Christ’s sake. Get. Out. Now.”

  His brother and the two soldiers tripped over each other scurrying from the room. The door slammed behind them, shaking the metal latch with a jarring ring. With the fog of sleep lingering in his head, Aaron dropped his chin to his chest and attempted to grasp why the devil Mairi MacGregor was there, in his blasted bedchamber, in the first place.

  On one hand, he was overjoyed to see her. In truth, the sight of her was a jolt to his senses. Yet, on the other, her unexpected presence awakened a host of feelings he’d done his damnedest to shove aside since their last ill-fated encounter.

  Saints, what foul mess had Connor landed them in?

  No doubt, a slew of troubles would soon darken his doorstep, namely in the enraged, hulking form of Laird Calum MacGregor. Beset with the sudden urge to bang his own head against the stone floor, Aaron heaved a deflated sigh before he peered at Mairi.

  Curled in a ball on the cold, stone floor, she lay on her side with her back to him. His heart plummeted at the sight of her shaking shoulders and quiet snuffles. He reached a hand toward her but thought better of the action.

  Christ, he longed for naught more than to touch her, to hold her in his arms and kiss away her tears, but ’twas impossible. He refused to torment himself in such a manner. Clearing his throat, he rose to his feet and shifted from bare foot to bare foot for a long moment.

  At last, he muttered, “I’ll send someone to look at your head.”

  Then, he’d find out what the hell she was doing in his keep.

  Tightening the fur around his waist, Aaron grabbed his braies and tunic from the chair beside the bed and darted for the door. With his hand paused on the iron latch, he glanced over his shoulder. A multitude of words lingered on the tip of his tongue—things he’d itched to speak of since they’d parted the year before. So many things he’d kept to himself, but damned if he could force them past his ridiculous lips.

  “I’m sorry, Mairi. Truly, I am.”

  Instead of waiting for a response, he took the coward’s way out and slipped from the chamber, easing the door shut after him with a soft click. Outside, he slumped against the wooden entrance and hung his head. The irony of the situation hit him like a blow to the gut. The woman of his dreams had landed in his lap, and he’d never felt more miserable in his life.

  A frantic hitch of laughter tumbled from his throat. His brother had no notion of the trouble he’d wrought upon them, nor the added weight he’d hurled on Aaron’s burdened shoulders. With a keep crumbling around his ears, concerns whether the stores would last throughout winter into the first harvest, and an overall disheartened clan, his back was near to bowing from the strain of worries. The last thing he needed was the brother of the woman he’d pined for, for more than a year, demanding his blasted head on a pike. Hell, he should lop it off now and save the man the hassle, but first, he was going to trounce Connor’s arse.

  *

  MAIRI HEFTED HERSELF into a sitting position and grasped her aching head in her hands. Once the lightheadedness subsided, she angrily swiped the spill of tears from her eyes. Sniffling, she snatched a corner of her plaid and wiped her drippy nose.

  She’d never been so humiliated in her life. Anger burned in her belly, a fierce, incinerating anger that left a bitter taste in her mouth. ’Twas a mercy—for Aaron’s sake—he’d left the chamber when he did. Otherwise, she might’ve done far worse than kick him in his useless, wretched male parts.

  Willing woman, her arse.

  The appalling words continued to spin around in her pounding head. He could not have known how much the hastily-spoken insult cut her to the bone, but the damage was done all the same. Alas, the image of the man she’d erected in her mind was forever tarnished.

  She was uncertain which frustrated her more—the fact she’d fallen for Connor’s deception, or that she’d wasted so much time dreaming of a man who’d turned out to be such an utter disappointment.


  Damn the MacRae brothers!

  Mairi managed to pick herself up from the chilled floor. She lifted a hand to prod at the base of her skull and winced at the tenderness. Shuffling to the bed, she plopped down on the edge and pondered her wretched predicament.

  How the devil was she to explain the situation to Calum? He and the rest of her kin must be out of their minds with worry. Try as she might to hide her feelings, her enchantment with Aaron was hardly a secret to those closest to her. Her brother was no fool. In no time, he would’ve presumed she was with Aaron. Where else might she have gone? And who else would’ve taken her?

  Saints, what if Calum and the others risked life and limb to search for her in such wretched conditions?

  A loud knock resounded through the quiet chamber, yanking her from the distressing thoughts barreling around in her head. The door parted to reveal a short, stout, gray-haired woman who shuffled inside clutching a basket in her arms. A younger female with blonde hair and flushed cheeks followed close behind carrying a wooden tray laden with a pitcher and tankards.

  With a scowl etched on her wrinkled face, the older woman passed a quick eye over Mairi. “I’m Gertie.” She hitched a thumb at the young blonde. “This is Kate.”

  Gertie dropped her basket on the bed and reached for Mairi’s head.

  Taken aback by the old crone’s abrupt manner, she waved away the woman’s grasping hands. “’Tis fine. No need to worry.”

  Gertie pressed her fists on her ample hips and narrowed her beady eyes. “I’m not, but I did not rise from my bed and hobble up those stairs for naught. The laird sent for me to check your head, so…” The old woman pushed up her sleeves. “Shall we make this simple, or…”

  Blinking at the forthright woman, Mairi gaped at the old crone. Was the blasted woman serious? From the daunting glimmer in Gertie’s eyes, she surmised the healer might wrangle her to the bed and have done with the task if she refused.

  Suddenly overwhelmed from the frigid cold, the horrid day’s travel and, frankly, the entire doomed situation, she loosened her rigid shoulders and blew out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Gertie. I suppose I’m merely out of sorts. ’Tis been a rather trying day.”

  ’Twas putting the matter rather mildly in her opinion.

  The old woman’s features softened a fraction. Nodding in understanding, she reached for Mairi’s head, passing her fingers over the swollen lump. The soft prodding and poking drew a wince from Mairi.

  “Aye, you cracked your head good.” Gertie paused in her ministrations and glanced over her shoulder at Kate. “Lass, grab a pouch of herbs from my basket and mix up a brew of tisane.”

  “Nay, I have no wish to sleep,” Mairi protested.

  Kate set the tray on the table by the bedside and poured a pouch of herbs into a tankard, mixing the concoction with water from the pitcher. “’Tis the point, my lady. A sound eve’s rest will help the pain in your head.”

  Mairi narrowed her gaze at the goblet Kate passed her. Saints, the last thing she needed was to be stuck near either MacRae brother. “Nay, what I need is to be away from here, at once.”

  The two women exchanged incredulous glances before turning their wide-eyed stares on her.

  The young blonde’s brow furrowed. “But, my lady, ’tis a storm outside. The pass…”

  “I do not think you’ll be traveling anywhere this eve, lass.” Gertie grabbed the tankard and thrust the cup at her.

  She sprang to her feet and waved off the healer’s offering, sidestepping the woman. “’Tis no matter. I cannot stay her a moment longer.”

  ’Twas the God’s honest truth. The notion of remaining with Aaron and his deceitful brother was as appealing as a slap to the face. Worse yet, the thought of Calum, Liam, and the others out of doors in the unforgiving winter, risking their lives for her, soured Mairi’s churning stomach.

  For the first time since she’d entered the chamber, concern added a layer to Gertie’s wrinkled features. Her gnarled hand grasped Mairi’s forearm. “Lass…do not be foolish. The pass is likely too treacherous, if not blocked. Even if you somehow managed the trip down without sliding off the side of the bluff, you would not survive long in the driving wind and snow. You’ll freeze to death.”

  And what of her kin? She could not allow them to catch their deaths for her sake. Saints, she’d been so utterly dimwitted to believe Connor’s lies. ’Twas her failing as usual. She’d allowed her emotions to guide her actions rather than her head.

  Panic gripped her chest in a tight vise. She grasped the healer’s hand, squeezing. “Please, Gertie, I beg you. I must leave. I beseech you both to help me.”

  Seemingly uncomfortable with the request, the old woman shifted from foot to foot, casting a few quick frowns between her and Kate. When Mairi believed she might give in, the healer disentangled her hand and backed up a pace.

  “Nay, I cannot permit this.” Gertie snatched her basket from the bed and cut a hasty departure from the chamber, leaving a pink-cheeked Kate gawking at the open doorway.

  Kate’s wide gaze darted from the entrance to Mairi. She held her hands in front of her. “Nay, my lady. I cannot—”

  “Merely help me secure a horse from the stables and I shall be on my way.”

  “But, the laird—”

  “Never has to know. I must return to my family, posthaste. Please, Kate,” Mairi implored. “They must be sick with worry for me. Can you not understand?”

  Uncertainty wavered in the young woman’s pretty features. She stole repeated glances at the doorway, as if she wished to bolt for escape. Rolling her eyes, Kate glanced heavenward and shook her head. “Blast it. Fine. I’ll help you…but if the laird finds out, I may be forced to seek refuge with you. Come on, you’ll need warmer clothing.”

  Mairi almost snorted but reassured the other woman, “Trust me, your laird shall thank you once I’m gone.”

  “I would not be so sure of that,” Kate muttered beneath her breath.

  Chapter Four

  WARMING HIS CHILLED skin before the blazing hearth in his brother’s chamber, Aaron shrugged the tunic over his head. “Christ’s bones, Connor,” he railed in displeasure. “If MacGregor did not murder us the last time, he surely will now. What the devil were you thinking, bringing her here?”

  Slumped on the edge of the bed with his elbows planted on his knees, Connor lowered his head in his hands. “I suppose I was not thinking…”

  “Aye, you damned well were not,” Aaron yelled as he tied the lacings of his braies. He began pacing a furious circle in front of his brother. “You could not have possibly given this any thought in the least. Do you have the slightest notion what you’ve done? Or what you might’ve done to this clan? As if they’ve not already seen enough death and destruction.”

  Enraged, he spat out a sound curse that bounced from the stone walls.

  Wearing a sheepish expression, Connor lifted his head. “I merely thought you might wish to see her before…”

  Aaron raised his brows, waiting for his brother to explain. When Connor held his silence, he prodded, “Before what?”

  His brother rolled his eyes and flapped a dismissive hand through the air. “’Tis no matter. Forgive me for foolishly believing you might be pleased to see her.”

  Pausing mid-stride, he peered at his kin in disbelief. “Pleased? Have you taken leave of your senses? Why on earth would I be pleased?”

  Connor seared him with a wry stare. His tone unwavering, he simply stated, “Because you love her.”

  His brother’s straightforward assessment caught Aaron off guard for a flicker of a moment. Love? He almost spat the word in disgust. Not that he’d ever admit the statement came far too close to its intended mark.

  He recovered with a swift glare. “How would you know? You’re too young to understand anything. You know naught of what I feel for the woman. How could you? You’re naught but a foolish child.” The false words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he continued, “Love? My arse. Lust, more
like.”

  “A child?” Connor ground out and jolted upright from the bed, blocking Aaron’s path. “A damned child? Saints, do not speak such drivel to me. I’ve not been a child for many years. Father saw to that.”

  The weight of guilt piled on thicker around Aaron’s shoulders at the mention of their uncaring, greedy father. Despite how much he despised Geoffrey Longford, ending their father’s life was the sole thing the man had done right. Naught but a blight on their clan, there was no love lost for him and his brother.

  Staring eye to eye with Connor, Aaron had somehow failed to notice his brother had grown into a full-fledged man at some point in the last year. Not much longer and the lad would outgrow him. He opened his mouth to muster some semblance of an apology, but Connor waved away his feeble attempt.

  “Aye, aye, I know. You did not mean it.” The young man shook his head. “You cannot continue on the course you’ve taken the past year.”

  Unwilling to argue, he remained mute.

  “Saints, Aaron, you either work your fingers to the bone or lock yourself away in the solar. Since Father’s death, you’ve ignored our clan’s need for guidance. You cannot carry on this way—this blatant disregard for yourself and everyone else around you. You cannot hide from me, Brother. You are drowning in misplaced guilt and regret. ’Tis time for you to lay those feelings to rest. Otherwise, you shall never move forward and be the leader this clan needs.”

  His initial response was to shout and deny the truth of his brother’s words, but Connor comprehended far more than Aaron would’ve imagined. ’Twas true. Every single word.

  Of course, guilt, regret and a healthy measure of shame for his actions, or rather, inactions suffocated the life from him. For years, he’d sat idly by while their father almost destroyed their clan. He should’ve removed their father before he’d done more harm, but nay. He’d turned a blind eye and allowed the worthless whoreson to poison the clan and wear them to the bone, effectively dragging him and Connor down with the rest of the MacRaes.